Not Invincible
by Dumbledore-The-Phoenix
Summary: Harry is having a rough time, and Ron is there. Not slash unless you want it to be. Takes place between fifth and sixth year.


**Not Invincible**

_Sweet Merlin, why is it so _cold_ in here?_ Ron Weasley wondered, laying beneath his garishly orange comforter on the night of August 21, 1996. Curling his lanky form into a tighter ball, he had every intention of going back to sleep when a distant roll of thunder erased this pleasant thought from existence. He opened his eyes blearily, wondering why the soundproofing spells had failed. It hadn't been long since the last time the Burrow's basic household spells had been restored, but perhaps his father had been distracted and his spell simply hadn't held.

Ron soon found that this wasn't true. The window of the bedroom was open wide, the orange canvas curtains billowing outward in reaction to the inclement weather outside. An oddly shaped shadow was cast upon the carpet, and Ron's head swung around to find Harry's cot empty. Curious and shivering, he plucked a maroon sweater off the floor and stumbled drowsily toward the open window.

"Harry?" he called softly, upon seeing his friend's prone form floating several feet above the window top on his glistening Firebolt broomstick, wearing the same Gryffindor practice sweats that he'd worn every night since Ron had known him. But Harry didn't answer. Growing concerned, Ron dug through his belongings for his Cleansweep and mounted it, carefully flattening himself against the broomstick to navigate through the inconveniently narrow window and rising until he was level with the boy he'd come to see as a sixth brother. "Harry," he called again, "What are you doing out here?"

Once again, Harry neglected to reply, and Ron felt his concern giving way to alarm. Harry didn't act like this. Harry was happy, or he was angry, or maybe, every so often, Harry was sad; Ron couldn't recall Harry _ever_ behaving this way. What was going through his head right now?

Ron continued to watch Harry, his mop of Weasley red hair growing steadily damper under the perpetual rainfall. He knew they could not stay out here forever, but he knew also that he no longer had any idea how to prevent them from doing exactly that. So he waited and watched for what seemed like hours, Harry's expression remaining stoic as he gazed at an imperceptible spot in the night sky.

Finally, as Ron had begun to wonder whether he would fall of his broom if he fell asleep whilst riding it, Harry's voice rang out, so quietly that Ron nearly lost the words to the howling winds. "I feel so cold," he said, sounding inexplicably pained, his gaze never leaving that same fixed spot. Something about those words made the fine red hairs on the back of Ron's neck stand up.

"Well, you _are_ sitting in the rain in the dead of the night without so much as a Weasley sweater to keep you warm," Ron pointed out lamely, trying for an impish grin. But Harry shook his head. That wasn't what he had meant.

"I feel so cold all the time, now, " he elucidated, voice barely above a whisper. "I thought that maybe, coming out here, I would finally have a reason."

Harry had never confused Ron so. He had thought that they understood each other. Right now, though, it was as if Harry was speaking in ancient Greek with a thick Irish accent. But Ron could see the pain in his best friend's eyes, and he kept trying to understand. Several long moments passed before Harry spoke again.

"Do you see that?" he asked Ron, pointing vaguely in the direction in which he had been staring. Ron followed the gesture before shaking his head, bewildered. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"It's the brightest star in the night sky, Ron. It's the Dog Star. It's _Sirius_." At last, he wrenched his eyes from the heavens and looked to Ron's face.

And Ron understood, now. He couldn't imagine how he had ever envied Harry. Sometimes, he wanted to strangle himself. Instead, in a show of empathy that surprised even him, he reached out a large, freckled hand and placed it on Harry's shoulder.

Harry gave a great, shuddering gasp. He hadn't expected this from Ron, or he would never have risked allowing his emotions to deteriorate so far. He had expected Ron to let him stay strong—to encourage him to stay strong. Harry gasped again, and his trembling grew more pronounced.

Ron watched Harry as he crumbled under his touch. Had he done the right thing? He didn't know. But now it was too late to turn back, so he floated closer and grabbed Harry in a loose embrace about the shoulders.

And then, Harry cried, his tears mingling with the rain. Ron's arms tightened and he felt Harry's tentatively curl out to reciprocate. They stayed like that until Harry's sniffling came to a rest several minutes later. Silence reigned supreme, then, and the awkwardness became tangible. Finally, Ron cleared his throat.

"We should go in before you catch cold. You're not invincible, you know, Harry." And Harry knew.


End file.
